The House
by Aeronwy1066
Summary: Scarlett resigns herself to moving on with life without Rhett when a handsome stranger enters her world. Will she (and her potential suitor) find happiness, or will the lingering specter of the man who abandoned her haunt the rest of her days?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is my "teaser" chapter. You don't really get much information, except for what you already knew from the summary. Still, I'm going to set up the premise: What if we had a post-GWTW story told from the perspective of a potential new suitor? How will Scarlett handle another strong, dynamic male presence in her life if she perceives that Rhett has left her for good and all? *dramatic music plays* **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story (except for the ones that I make up- they are mine! *evil laugh*). The major characters, Scarlett, Rhett, et al belong to Margaret Mitchell.**

Andrew Peek held out his dollar bill to the streetcar porter, giving him a nonchalant smile as he paid for the ride.

"Mis' Kennedy's, suh," the man said, taking the bill gratefully once Andrew made it clear that no change was expected from the half dollar fare.

"Thanks," Andrew replied, disembarking.

It was a Saturday afternoon, a particularly hot one for the third of October, but Andrew shivered with impatience as he made his way through the busy street, bustling with shoppers and streetcars. Atlanta was growing, even in the recession as it was. But Reconstruction was endless, he reminded himself. These ain't Southerners spending money. No sir, these were transplants from the North hoping to sniff out an advantage. Andrew just happened to be seeking an advantage to, though Northern he was not.

Making his way through the throng at last, he opened the shop door and took a look inside the mercantile. "Fine, quality goods, hardware, variety," Andrew read the sign underneath the black bold letters reading Kennedy's Emporium. He shrugged, "Let the buyer beware." Pulling the nearest clerk aside, he said in a more serious tone, "Mr. Kennedy if you please, sir. My name is Andrew Peek and I have an appointment."

The clerk looked amused. "Mr. Kennedy ain't here."

"I'll wait. When is he expected?"

"You'll be waiting a good long while. Mr. Kennedy's been dead a good seven years."

Andrew's eyes narrowed. "It may be good and well to act smart to folks here in Atlanta but where I come from it's a sign of disrespect. Now I made an appointment with Mr. Kennedy and I want you to produce him, now."

"I'm afraid that is impossible, Mr. Peek."

Andrew turned around hurriedly at the sound of the female voice.

He quickly removed his hat, then asked with surprise, "You are -"

"Mrs. Butler, now. Formerly Kennedy."

"You are the proprietor of this store? Sole proprietor?" He eyed her with interest. He had rarely encountered a woman in business, particularly one so appealing as the one which stood before him. He eyed her with interest, raptly taking an inventory of her charms with an experienced eye.

She looked up at him with dancing green eyes, so distinctive that the devil incarnate could lose himself within their depths. Her black brows slanted upward, like a pair of wings. Her heavy chignon held hair of the same shade of ebony, and her magnolia skin was set off by full lips.

"Mr. Kennedy has been deceased for several years, Mr. Peek."

"I see," Andrew said hesitantly. "And Mr. Butler is..." his voice trailed off, deliberately adding the additional unspoken question.

"My husband's business endeavors force him away from Atlanta for long periods," she said, her tone unwavering. "Mr. Kennedy's store is my own enterprise and I act with full authority in all matters concerning it."

Aha, Andrew thought to himself with pleasure. Mrs. Kennedy-Butler wasn't nearly as innocent as she was supposed to be, and with a longing look, but without further question, he offered her his arm.

"Suppose you show me the books?"

She nodded, and extended her gloved hand, which he took, allowing her to lead the way to the accounting room at the back of the store.

Andrew noted the pointed toes of her boots tapping nervously on the wood floor as he gave the ledger a cursory glance.

"As you can see, we have been very successful..." she began.

"I can see that you are breaking even, which is a credit in these hard times. As to successful, I'm not sure. You mentioned sawmills as well?"

"I did. Well, not my sawmills, my – Ashley's – they're – "

"Do the sawmills exist or do they not, Mrs. Butler?"

She attempted a polite smile with trembling lips.

"They do exist. But they're doing so badly now that Ashley's not...what I meant to say, Mr. Peek, is that I am going to buy them back from him and you're going to buy them from me, along with the store as our lawyers discussed."

Andrew stroked his chin. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable buying something from someone who doesn't actually possess the thing I'm looking to buy."

"But I will possess it. They were my mills before Ashley – "

She turned her back on him, and Andrew stood up unconsciously.

"Are you quite alright?" he asked with not a little discomfort.

She faced him slowly, her chin tucked tightly into the high boned collar of her dress. There was no point in her trying to explain to him the ins and outs of her situation – none of that seemed useful to relay.

"I am only standing in this room with you, Mr. Peek, because of a death in the family. We're all of us still reeling. My sister-in-law. Ashley – Mr. Wilkes's – wife. He is inconsolable and the mills are no longer profitable. I wish to sell them while they're still worth something. And your attorney said you were interested in property in town, not just the mills – and the store – it is what it is but I have no further use for it. Not now. You can look at my books and know that you'll turn a profit off of it instantly. And once you possess the mills, you'll have lumber at your disposal as well."

"And what of you? And of the bereaved Mr. Wilkes, if I may be so bold?"

"We'll be going home. All of us. And leaving Atlanta behind."

"Ah. Well sit down, why don't you?" he said coaxingly, indicating the chair opposite his. She moved closer, staring for the first time at his face. He had the blackest of hair, the bluest of eyes, and an expression that reminded her of a highwayman. His face was unconventional, proud and imperious, but gentle enough to break into laughter at any moment. His close clipped beard was liberally streaked with gray, but most likely belied his true age, which was thirty-eight.

Her glance was avid in impassioned curiosity.

"What is it that you're going to do with my store?" Her voice had changed, raw silk had turned to dark honey. It was throbbing with intensity, and it piqued Andrew's attention.

"Sell it." Andrew attempted his previous nonchalance, noting as she stood up again her slender waistline and the bosom that lurked underneath that high collar of rose colored lace. He glanced up at her again. Her beauty was not that of a fresh-faced innocent. Far from it; this was a woman very conscious of her power over men, and she knew how to use it to her advantage.

"And you, Mrs. Butler, do you make a habit of conducting business without your husband's consent?"

She gave him a tiny, mischievous smile, then murmured, "Would your lawyer have taken the time to converse with mine if I was not serious about making the sell? Would you have come if you were not? No. I think you have answered your own question, Mr. Peek."

There were so few surprises in life, Andrew thought, that you had to make the most of every one you encountered. Tantalizing himself with his own restraint, he laughed aloud, "Done then, Mrs. Butler. I will buy your store and the sawmills at the price we discussed. But I will expect a meeting with yourself and this unfortunate Wilkes fellow before I sign the papers."

"That's quite impossible, Ashley is indisposed." She sputtered indignantly, gathering her white pique skirt in one hand and moved to exit.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Butler, those are my terms."

"But he's in no condition –"

"Is he dead along with his wife, Mrs. Butler? Then he is in a condition to talk, and I will talk to him. And to you."

"Without my husband, surely it – "

"Your husband allows you to conduct your own business affairs, you have already said." He looked directly into her fascinating eyes.

"I did, but –"

"This is no different, then. If you would call at the National, around 8:30. Bring Mr. Wilkes with you. I will bring the documents and have the cash in hand."

She nodded, only appearing a little flustered, then left the room, shutting the door loudly behind her.

"Damn it," he muttered aloud. Mrs. Butler was entirely too desirable, and in her unprotected state, entirely too available. He was no stranger to affairs, but he had his reputation to maintain. Such a figure...such a vivacious...and dare he say it..._smart_...female?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Those who left reviews, THANK YOU! You are too kind. There are so many good stories on this site, it means a lot that you took the time to read and offer your opinion on mine. :) **

Scarlett raced up Ivy Street, so filled with determination that there was no room for hesitation when she found herself in front of Ashley's house, which she had largely avoided since Melanie's wake for propriety's sake. Gathering her courage, she pushed open the unlocked door and glanced around for either India, Ashley's spinster sister, or Beau, his poor suffering little son.

She found Beau at the table, drawing something with the set of charcoal pencils Rhett had given him on his last birthday. At least he was dressed appropriately, in a high white collared shirt and a dark tie, as if for church. His dark brown hair was short and brushed close to his head.

"Hello, Aunt Scarlett," he said, noticing her after a moment.

"Hello, Beau." Scarlett attempted gentleness. "Is your Aunt India at home?"

Beau shook his head.

Seizing her opportunity, Scarlett said, "Your father is expecting me. Is he in his room, Beau, honey?" Her voice, although she didn't realize it, was that of Beau's gentle mother, Melanie.

"Yes, Aunt Scarlett – ah – Aunt Scarlett?"

"It's all right, Beau. I just need to speak to him privately," she replied, somehow knowing what words would assure the boy that she had the right to see his father in his bedroom.

She tapped on the door.

"Ashley?"

"Come in," the dead sounding voice called. She entered the room in a rush, then stopped in her tracks, rigid in shock, the door slamming behind her. Ashley, naked from the waist up, was standing there, his back to here. He was wiping his neck with a hand towel. At least two empty bottles of whiskey lay on a chair beside his dressing table.

"Throw me a decent towel, India."

"Ashley, you are drunk!" Scarlett blurted out, her eyes to the floor.

He whirled around, giving a loud grunt of surprise.

"Another steam bath. She'd turn me into a puddle, Scarlett. Doctor Meade says it calms my nerves. Heat wave in October, would you believe..."

"Ashley." Scarlett finally dared look up, and only the door at her back stopped her from falling backwards at the sight of his bare chest and tired, stooped shoulders. His raised arm gave her a bird's eye view of the hair underneath – no longer golden, but gray. Never had she seen Ashley's bare chest. Even in the days after the war during the hottest days in the summer at Tara, he and Will wore undershirts as they worked the fields. Never had she been so near him in this state, half-naked, sweating from the hot bath, vulnerable. The feeling of being so near him in the small room stunned her like a blow. She felt attacked by it, and she knew that she was violently blushing.

"I'm not so very drunk, Scarlett. Now, what did you need to speak to me about?"

"I need you to dress yourself, make yourself presentable enough to speak to a gentleman at the National with me at eight thirty this evening."

She stared directly into his face.

"I want you to sell the mills back to me."

"You may have them."

"I want to _sell_ them, Ashley. That's the way it's done. The papers are drawn and all you have to do is sign them."

"Well if that's all."

"Ashley, look at me."

"Drink, Scarlett?" he offered her a glass of something he had poured already. He held the glass out to her.

She shook her head. "Ashley Wilkes, why are you acting as if it's the most natural thing in the world to drink in the middle of the afternoon?"

He moved closer to her, bent forward and tilted her chin up with one hand so that he could see directly into her eyes. Confused and speechless, he traced the curve of her chin up to the edge of her jawbone with his finger.

"No, Ashley," she said softly. "No."

His hand began to shake and she clasped it tightly. "Ashley, please, will you come with me tonight? Please? I'll come back here tonight and you can accompany me."

"Yes."

"Good."

"Until tonight then," Scarlett said, then bolted from the room. She looked around the tiny hallway with shock. She couldn't have possibly have planned to come back here tonight. She couldn't have possibly agreed to meet with Ashley and Mr. Peek with no other male member of her family present. Nothing that had happened could have happened. _It would not have happened._ Why shouldn't it have, she thought to herself. Rhett was gone. Her world was dissolving around her.

With the instinct of someone fighting for her survival, she picked up her hat on the rack in the foyer, jammed it on, and ran out of the house and back into the street.

About twenty minutes later she was back at her house, flustered and furious, drinking hot chocolate in her luxerious, gaslit boudoir, pondering the always absorbing problem of Rhett.

Why was it, Scarlett wondered in familiar vexation, that she still managed to garner such physical reactions from Ashley and from Mr. Peek, she who considered herself such an authority on men, but had completely and utterly managed to lose Rhett's affection and love.

Scarlett couldn't tell herself what had happened to her. She was utterly confused, the connection between her mind and her body were overwhelmed with the ever present sorrow of losing Bonnie, Melly, and Rhett in such a short span of time. Her heart hammered with wild excitement in her chest, frighteningly fast. What was she to do with Ashley?

Catching her breath, she reminded herself that she would do tonight as she had done since Melly's funeral. Facing the Atlanta Old Guard without Rhett at least nominally in her corner had been like learning a new language, and she had forgotten how to be herself, or at least, how to be the Scarlett she had been. She could manage the household and see that the children had their lessons, but that was the limit of her capacity to handle life after Rhett had walked out on her. All of her powers to win him back had fused into a tight ball of immeasurable intoxication, but there was no relief – he was no where to be found and clearly had no intention of returning to Atlanta save on his own good time.

The days following Melanie's funeral had been a blur. Sometimes she had played games of lawn tennis with Beau and her son Wade and daughter Ella. Twice, she had taken the three children for a picnic in the park adjacent to Oakwood Cemetery, so that afterward they might pay their respects to Melly since Ashley was in no condition to do so. But even then, Scarlett found herself in a clouded daze, her thoughts locked on Rhett and his leaving. She stopped seeing any of her vulgar, new-monied friends. It was out of the question to laugh and sip wine and listen to music when her mind beat only to the refrain of her broken heart. Her memories of Melanie had quickly faded since she couldn't speak to her of the one person who was on her mind.

That night, after she had seen the children to bed, she had ordered the carriage to fetch Ashley at his home and then return for her, if only to spare her from India's tongue-lashing for her impromptu visit to his bedroom earlier. It was nearly eight, and she was mad with anticipation by the time her maid knocked on her bedroom door and announced that Mr. Wilkes was awaiting her.

She fought to breathe evenly, to make her voice sound normal for Ashley.

***~*G~*W~*T~*W~***

"Well, if I didn't have to rush home tonight," Scarlett said triumphantly, "perhaps I would have taken you up on it."

"And poor Mr. Wilkes?" Andrew Peek grinned, "Did he have a fit and choke on an excess of tonight's libation?"

"You're one to talk. You can barely walk yourself."

"I beg to differ. I am perfectly steady. You, Mrs. Butler, are tilting, which is precisely the reason I sent him on in the carriage and offered to convey you home myself."

"Fiddle-dee-dee. I'll thank you to leave as soon as I reach the door. And I need to hurry or I'll – "

"You'll what?"

"I awake the house."

"You are the mistress of it, are you not?"

"Yes, but – "

"Well, why must you play Cinderella then? The ball does not have to end at midnight, Mrs. Butler."

"Whatever are you talking about, there isn't a ball – oh – you're teasing me just like Rhett teases me when he –" her voice trailed off, and Andrew's dancing eyes lowered. For all Scarlett's skill in relaying her husband's business prowess as a reason for his absence, he doubted her story, every word of it. As they had talked together all evening, with only occasional interjections from the sad eyed Ashley Wilkes, his suspicions had soon been confirmed that she was not all that she pretended to be, nor was her elusive husband.

She was wearing an unadorned pale blue evening dress, trimmed at the waist with a narrow black velvet band. She doesn't even realize, Andrew thought to himself, how appealing she looks, simple and natural.

Mrs. Butler was a wealthy woman, he was sure of it, and she had no need of his money and no urgent reason to sell the store. The mills, he could understand, as the grieving widower truly was in no condition to manage anything and needed to be relieved of his responsibilities while maintaining some bit of dignity and independence. Mrs. Butler had provided that for him by purchasing the mills for far more than they were worth, and she had done it under the pretense of reselling them to him, the eager expansionist. And Mr. Wilkes had accepted the bargain with little thanks, promptly gotten so intoxicated he had to be helped out, and Andrew had taken the opportunity to engage his other dining companion in conversation. He was not disappointed; she inflected her words with the air and attitude of a plantation belle, but managed to keep up the appearance of an enterprising, entrepreneurial member of the nouveau riche.

And when he mentioned her husband in any way, she flushed exquisitely and declined to give him any more information. But he had not probed and he didn't intend to. Let her keep her secrets – it was better that way now that he was this far in his conquest. To listen to such problems would make him vulnerable to becoming ensnared within them, and that was the last thing Andrew Peek needed.

"Perhaps you'll consent to accompanying me to the theater sometime, and have supper after. Mr. Wilkes is invited too, of course," he added, sure that she would agree if he mentioned Wilkes as a safety net for propriety's sake.

"I'm not certain," she replied, her voice filled with the slightest twinge of – regret – "Atlanta is a very small town and folks talk."

"I promise to find some place very quiet and discreet," he smiled genuinely, exposing even white teeth, "Some place tiny and very dark."

"Do you want me to say yes or don't you?"

"I do, Mrs. Butler, or I wouldn't have asked."

"If you can find such a place, and if Ashley is there as well, then I suppose ..."

"I will find such a place, Mrs. Butler. I promise you that."

"You're worse than Rhett, you know that – "

"You know, Mrs. Butler, you can't expect to spend the entire night comparing me to the man and refusing to disclose the truth of him, can you?"

"Of course I can. It's none of your business, anyway."

"Of course not," he answered, waiting for the response he knew was coming.

"You must understand that Rhett … Rhett... Rhett has no intention of returning to Atlanta."

"No?" he feigned shock, although he could have figured that much on his own.

"I must leave soon, I must take Ashley and the children and leave. Oh!" she became breathless and her eyes were filled with tears. "How could I have told you, what possessed me to tell _you_!?"

"I'm sorry for prying. As amusing as your lies have been all night, you've looked as if you've wished to scream the truth out to someone."

She looked a little outraged at herself, or his response, he wasn't sure. Quickly he added, "On the other hand, I would like to know. I've been quite liberal with information about myself, my business. But I know nothing of you, no one in Atlanta. I could be quite objective a listener, should you need someone to talk to."

"Oh." Scarlett glanced at him sideways, still discomfited. "I don't know you and you certainly don't know me and – don't do that!" she cried out, snatching away the hand he had covered with both of his.

"Do what?"

"Take liberties..." a tear rolled down her cheek that she didn't dare wipe away. "...as if I'm some loose woman."

"I would never take you for anything but a lady, Mrs. Butler. Scarlett." Scarlett. Just her name set his already hammering heart beating wildly.

"You shouldn't..."

The wine was clearly taking its effect on her – and him too, he was realizing – Peachtree Street seemed nothing more than a painted backdrop.

"This is impossible. You're impossible. Ridiculous." Scarlett was speaking aloud but he pretended not to hear.

"I want to kiss you," he heard himself say.

Beyond her obvious state of unrest, there was desire in her eyes, and he seized the initiative, passionately kissing her closed lips. She kept them closed, but pressed against his strongly, with increasing eagerness. There was no doubting that someone had kissed her with more than the chaste kiss of husbandly affection, and she craved such passion more than anything in the world. Her eyelids were tightly shut and he could see the tears rolling freely now.

"Wait," he drew back. "Look at me, Scarlett."

For a second, he thought she might faint.

"I'm very sorry if I – "

"I need to go. Leave me alone," she whispered breathlessly, backing away from him and taking off in the direction of her darkened house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi guys! This is a very short chapter 3, which theoretically could have been included in Chapter 2, but it felt 'cleaner' to separate them. Thank you so much for the reviews – they are really helpful in the fact that they let me know where I need to clarify, extrapolate, etc – also thank you for the encouragement! I love the critiques, because I can rectify mistakes and/or make myself a better writer and hopefully tell an entertaining tale. Did their kiss happen quickly? Yes it did. Alcohol and mad chemistry do funny things to people, particularly vulnerable people, which I perceive Scarlett to be. Particularly Scarlett of my story, who has mourned for Bonnie and Melly for a little over a year with nary an appearance of that dirty rotten scoundrel we all know and love in spite of ourselves, and on top of that has realized (or perhaps just accepted) that Ashley is never going to succeed in the lumber or any other business and her intervention is required. I received a very kind PM mentioning the fact that all would still be donning mourning clothing. Very good point and I thank you. I'm not sure if a year is an appropriate length of time for her to add some color to her wardrobe, but we'll run with it...;)**

**C'est fin. Long winded author's note complete. Please keep the thoughts coming; they are extremely encouraging and helpful! ~Aeronwy**

"Shirley, for God's sake, you've got to help me!" Andrew Peek said, grabbing his half-asleep attorney's arm and pulling up from his comfortable resting place in the hotel armchair. "I'm in trouble, Shirley! Get up, damn you!"

"What's wrong?" the lawyer had often accompanied his client on major business dealings in the past – sharing wild nights and the occasional bad hangover the morning after such – but he had never seen Andrew in such a condition, unshaven and disheveled and fairly flustered. Nor had Andrew ever entered his room so early in the morning.

"Jesus, Shirley. Why did I agree to come to Atlanta? What _possessed _me to come?"

"Did something happen? With Mrs. Butler? Will she sell or won't she?"

"She won't – well she will – it makes no difference now. Here, take the damned money, Shirley. I have to get out of Atlanta this morning."

"Calm down, Andrew. You have a meeting at the bank this morning and a social event this evening, which you know perfectly well. You can't leave for two more days, at least."

"I know, I know. That changes nothing, Shirley. I have to disappear, without a trace. Before daybreak, if possible. You'll have to cover for me at the meeting and the ball. And above all with Mrs. Butler."

"Come now! With the ball, perhaps, but Mrs. Butler – her offer is the best in town – you've worked for this for years, Andrew – don't be a fool – I don't want to lose my commission out of this, either. What do I tell the bank, that you've changed your mind?"

"No. Tell them that I cannot do business with a female; they'll understand that."

"What you – what happened? You surely didn't – tell her of your plans for the property – did you?"

"Oh Christ, no, Shirley. Worse than that, I'm afraid."

"What then? She's a married woman, surely you didn't..."

"I didn't screw her, no. But I did kiss her. And I had her primed for more, primed to perfection. She's wild for it, even. But she is married, as you say. Still in half-mourning for a daughter and sister-in-law. She about bursts into tears when you mention her husband, who's taken off for parts unknown. And I was one step away from telling her that she was the wonderful, wild thing I wanted all my life. So I walked her home, kissed her at the door of her house. And then she pulls back like a dead fish, recoils, even. I just knew she'd faint, or else start screaming rape. You know who her husband is, Shirley? Rhett Butler. As in, Rhett "_Made-off-with-the-Confederate-Treasury_" Butler. He's about as well connected as he is powerful. I've crossed him in the past with the Union Pacific bank thing and I'd not like to do it again. Rhett Butler. She runs screaming to him – who knows how far it will go? Consequences. I'll be ruined in the South. Might as well flee the country. No one would believe that she was willing, no one. Shirley, stand up for God's sake!"

The portly attorney rose slowly and looked into the eyes of his haggard client. "You have never had a problem with women before. And this one is no blushing virgin."

"You must have missed the part about her being _Rhett Butler's_ wife."

"Well what did you expect, wining and dining her as you did? You knew what you expected, surely."

"It was a moment of temporary insanity, Shirley, what more can I say? I bundled her companion home as fast as I could, before he made an even larger spectacle of himself than he had already. We were nearing the ten o'clock hour before I even understood what trouble I was in. She's intoxicating, that woman, I cannot – Shirley, once again, this will end badly if I don't get out of town now."

After a moment's pause to reflect on his options, the lawyer pondered aloud, "Do you have a story I can pass around, at least?"

"Surely you can fix one up. Say that my mother died suddenly. Say that I had a wire waiting for me when I returned to the hotel, which you read with your own eyes. A woman's heart, any woman's heart will be stirred to pity by the death of a mother."

"Your mother has been dead twenty years."

"Minor point. No one in Atlanta knows my family, and I told Mrs. Butler nothing."

"And what do I tell her?"

"Tell her about the death. Only mention that, nothing else."

"And suppose she wishes to contact you herself?"

"She can handle the business dealing with you."

"I don't mean about the deal, Andrew."

"Why else would she desire to – oh – do you have cotton in your ears, man? She's a fit to be tied about her husband leaving her. I made an inquiry with the front desk. He used to let out a suite in this very hotel. Took out a little over a year ago and hasn't been seen since. 'Gone with the wind', the man said. But as long as he breathes, I don't want him looking for me. Mrs. Butler doesn't know that I live in New Orleans. If she does ask how to find me, you're to tell her that you have no idea, that my business takes me all over the world. Hell, tell her I boarded a ship to Timbuktu for all I care."

"And if she shows up later in New Orleans?"

"No, that couldn't happen. She told me her intention is to buy Wilkes some property near her family's. It's in north Georgia, I think. She's packing up her children and heading home as soon as she closes shop here. I think she's tired of waiting for her husband to come back."

The lawyer raised his thick bushy brows. "Well perhaps she'll ask for a divorce, if she's that sick and tired of waiting."

"Would never happen. It was one day, Shirley. I doubt if I hold much power over any woman, let alone one like that."

"The voice of love..."

"Ha. Not likely. In the case that she doesn't send the dogs out for my head, you may tell her that I said to you in confidence that I would never forget her. That I will remember her for the rest of my life. And believe me, Shirley, I will."

The lawyer shook his head and gave Andrew a small smile. "You'll have to make the meeting at the bank in the morning, at least, Andrew. There isn't a train out until mid-afternoon. I'll deliver the signed papers for the sale to Mr. Henry Hamilton's office at the close of business and make your excuse. I'll also explain your impropriety away as grief over your mother's death should he or Mrs. Butler make any mention of it at our meeting."

"You're a saint, Shirley. A real pal. What would I do without you?"

"You'd be broke."

**~*G~*W~*T~*W**

The rest of the night, Andrew lay awake in his hotel bed, wave after wave of severe pain of an erotic nature filled his core with almost unbearable sensitivity. He had known many women; hell, he had loved many women. But the combined total of four hours he had spent with Scarlett Butler consumed his mind and body in a way which he didn't fully understand, as if reassuring himself that she was unhurt by his actions was the only thing that mattered in life. He had to run, he told himself. He had overstepped the boundaries dictated by society and law – but why had she kissed him back? He bit his lip until it bled. He had to avoid Atlanta, maybe even Georgia, forever now. His nerves were raw, and he held back every instinct he possessed to hail the nearest cab and pay a fortune for a private ride up to Savannah and the coast.

Ah, Scarlett Butler. The memory of the innocent passion with which she returned his kiss hit him like a slap to the face. This was a woman who had experienced a deal of loss, and been all but abandoned by her husband. Andrew felt sorry for her in spite of himself. She was the most beautiful, compelling female he had ever seen – and clearly – Rhett Butler had seen the same qualities. The way she had proclaimed herself independent from her husband in matters of business, the fiery green eyes, the proud, willful turn of her head, everything that was intemperate and unharnessed about her, all dolled up under that demure little head. That kiss – which to be fair, he had initiated – but the passion he had felt both for and from her, that he had not imagined. There was blood stirring business which he would have been only too happy to conduct with her, had she not been Rhett Butler's wife.

His stirrings tempered by the wisdom of avoiding a fight with that most ruthless of underhanded financiers (and according to gossip, a damned good shot) – Andrew heaved a sigh. Better to leave now, he thought to himself, before Butler ever gets word that you exist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Reviews kind of make my heart soar. Enjoy! :D**

Scarlett's first letter had arrived mercifully soon, not over two days after she had gone. Although it had been addressed to Ashley, it had been his sister India and their Aunt Pittypat who had opened it immediately. It said only that she was safe, happy beyond belief, and, by her own incredible account, living with a man she loved. The delicate sensibilities of the maiden lady were mortified beyond belief, and India was too terrified even to hint at the catastrophe to anyone else in town. Ashley alone had kept a level head, going straight to the post office to wire Scarlett's sister and brother-in-law at Tara, saying only that Scarlett and the children had vanished without a trace, and that help was needed to bring them home before anyone became the wiser.

"India, you wretched old hag!" Suellen Benteen had screamed, as soon as she had arrived. "Tell me what you know!"

"Be quiet, Suellen," Ashley interrupted her impatiently. "The letter said in three different places that _no one_ in Atlanta knew anything, that she made a satisfactory excuse to her employees at the store – that the mills and the store have been consolidated under another owner, the house vacated, Charlie's property signed over to Uncle Henry in trust – "

"Well Henry must know something, then, why isn't he – "

"Henry knows nothing, Suellen. Scarlett lied to him; its not his fault he didn't try to make her see sense. He had no idea she was leaving. None."

"Not his fault! Whose fault is it then, Ashley? Yours? Did she confide in you? Did she?"

"Suellen, don't you realize that no matter who knew or didn't know, we must help each other to keep this matter a secret until she returns home?"

"You think she will?"

"I know she will. Now, we must think carefully, although I think it's obvious what man Scarlett has gone away with, and we must find her before any harm is done."

"What man?" Suellen interrupted.

"Andrew Peek. If I had had my wits about me, I would have detected an unsavory aspect to his character but as it was – "

"You are not Scarlett's keeper, Ashley," India jumped in.

"I was responsible for her safety, and I regret it has taken an incident of this magnitude to bring me to my senses. If only I had been privy to how she met this man – even Henry assumed she had to have been acquainted with him before. He was betting on Peek being one of Rhett's associates, even."

"What did he look like, Ashley...Just tell us what you remember of him."

"Average height, just shorter than I. Well made. Dark hair and graying beard. That's the extent of my recollection, I'm afraid."

"I'll say this for Scarlett, she would have never had a strange man in her house. She's been the image of propriety since Captain Butler – left – she's never even been alone with a man besides Ashley, and that's because she was the only one of us he would see – " Aunt Pittypat broke into tears. "She was broken-hearted that Melly died, that Captain Butler abandoned her, she even asked me questions about what to tell the dear children – she wouldn't have gone willingly. This man has kidnapped her, I swear it!"

"Kidnapped. Ha." Suellen snorted. "I might have considered it if she hadn't packed the children up, too. The house cleared, you say. I bet she took anything of value and skipped town with the first man to pay her any attention, since her husband no longer does – "

"Suellen..." Ashley began warningly.

"Look at her letter! _My sister has run away with some man! _It's either one thing or the other. It can't be both."

"Ladies, try to calm yourselves," Ashley took Aunt Pittypat's hand firmly. "If we're lucky, Scarlett will come back in a day or two. We all know how the situation with Rhett has affected her...she's been dealt a great deal of grief – and this might be a natural response to the agony of it all – perhaps this what she needs to overcome it. But when we find her we'll understand what happened and why and not before. But meanwhile, until she gets home, it is essential that no one in or out of Atlanta know that she isn't here except for the four of us and Uncle Henry. Suellen, are you listening to me? Suellen?"

"Yes, Ashley. I hear you."

"Suellen, you must tell Scarlett's staff that she left for Tara. Reiterate to them that Tara was her destination but on the road, she discovered that Wade and Ella both were coming down with the mumps. Tell them that they must vacate the house immediately and give them strict orders that none of the servants are to go into any of the rooms. Tell them that they all are in quarantine at a private hospital in Macon."

He then turned to his sister and sobbing Aunt, who was blowing her nose loudly. "You both will go visiting Honey and her family in Macon. You will tell her nothing but the story we have discussed, save for leaving out the location of the private hospital. Aunt Pitty, don't cry, but you know that you can't be trusted with a secret such as this, and by God, I will not give Dolly Meriwether and Caroline Meade something this juicy to sink their teeth into. India, you must write to the other ladies that you have made inquiries as to Scarlett and the children's health; that they are all very ill. If anyone in Atlanta finds out the truth, I will never forgive you so long as I live. Do you understand?"

"No need to berate me, Ashley. Suellen is just as likely to – "

"As if I would desire to bring shame on my own family – "

"Well, it would hardly be the first time – "

"Ladies! Please. Now, if for any reason Scarlett has not returned by the time Rhett returns from wherever it is that he's been the past year, we will reach out to the authorities. Mr. Peek's intentions would be demonstrably dishonorable, and will we need their advice. By then, if, Rhett Butler finds out – both Scarlett and Mr. Peek will need their help."

"What do you mean by that?" Suellen bristled. "Their _help_? You would bring law enforcement into our private family matter?"

"I would prevent a murder. Maybe more."

"Scarlett would be getting what she deserves," India muttered under her breath.

"My God, India! How can you speak of Scarlett so heartlessly?"

"Forgive me, Ashley. I am grateful to Scarlett for helping us, I am. But I do not like the woman – "

"Put your hate aside and be sensible for your family's sake, India. For that is what Scarlett is, family. Now, I am trying to be practical and I advise you to do so as well. If we think ahead, we can proceed with Rhett being none the wiser, we can prevent a scandal, both of which are the most crucial goals, aside from getting Scarlett back to us safely. Now, Auntie, do lie down and rest and try to stop crying. Wash your face. There, there. It's only the mumps. Nothing serious, not the end of the world."

He was speaking the lie aloud as much for his own sake as for Aunt Pittypat's.

On the same day that Suellen departed for Tara and Pittypat and India for Macon, a second letter from Scarlett arrived. It was postmarked from New Orleans and told Ashley little more than the first letter had. Scarlett said that she had only sent it to reassure him of her and the children's well-being, that he could rest easy knowing that his account at the bank was well stocked due to the sale of the mills, and that if Rhett should inquire as to her whereabouts, he was to deliver the message that she had warned him what would happen if he attempted to find her.

"Read this, Henry," Ashley said grimly, handing the letter to the elderly lawyer to peruse. "Tell me what you think."

"We could always hire a detective," Henry said after reading the first few lines. "That'd probably be Rhett's first step – aww – hell – Rhett probably go looking himself. I doubt a detective would be able to trace her. There's nothing to go on except she passed through New Orleans. Could have mailed this at the train station. Port even, boarding a ship. She could be God-knows-where. We haven't any leads."

"That's what I was afraid of, Henry. I have some money to spare now, and I would be happy to hire one. But I am losing hope. And Beau is fiercely angry with me, and broken-hearted to have lost his playmates, even if I have rejoined the living somewhat."

Henry looked slightly abashed at Ashley's candid admission of his lamentable mental state in the months following Melly's death. Henry didn't blame the man, but he was unskilled in the art of giving comfort, so he blustered, "Well, what are we to do?"

"If Scarlett hasn't returned by the end of the another week, we can't keep passing around the story of the mumps. They don't last forever. Pittypat and India must remain away until Scarlett and the children recover, and then Scarlett will write us all and say that she and the children are returning to Tara. They will leave without farewells to any, and Suellen will play her part. She will want to keep the family's reputation intact."

"What about the folks in the County? Won't they ask questions if they see neither hide nor hair of Scarlett or either child?"

"I doubt it. Not many of our neighbors call on Suellen. Many still haven't forgiven her for the business around Mr. O'Hara's death. And Will too, as much as he is liked, largely keeps to himself. They have a brood of children, too, and I think that Wade and Ella would be lost in them any way. In any case, none of our friends here would question that Scarlett would be at Tara. I suspect that many figured she would be long gone for home the minute Melly died. Of course, she was looking after me instead of herself – if she had instead, perhaps we would not – " Ashley heaved a sigh. "If I can help her in this, I will...and if luck remains with us, Rhett will stay away."

"Rhett." Uncle Henry stroked his chin. "This will all work until he comes home. And he will come home...sooner or later."

"What makes you say that?" Ashley said sharply.

"Because, a man who would take on a girl like Scarlett must be so enamored that he would have had to discover the real her after so many years, must have known what he was getting into, and must have wanted her for herself. She was no longer the pretty face she once was when Butler wed her. No, she was not. And he didn't tire of her. I won't believe that for a minute. No, mark my words, Ashley, from everything I've ever learned in all my years of burying family members and losing my friends in the War – you can run all you want, but sooner or later, you're forced to come back to that one place you belong in. I figure that's why I'm still at Hamilton and Hamilton. Mark my words, Ashley, Rhett'll be back. And he'll be back for her. And it isn't going to be pretty when someone tells him that she's run off with someone else. Thank God that poor fool isn't going to be me, that's all I can say."


End file.
